


alive with his touch

by randomtuna13 (belindarimbi13)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:13:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23245324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belindarimbi13/pseuds/randomtuna13
Summary: No one loves Crowley's hair, more than Crowley himself—except, now it seems that Aziraphale does too.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	alive with his touch

**Author's Note:**

> It's been 84 years and I'm still soft for them.

No one loves Crowley's hair, more than Crowley himself—except, now it seems that Aziraphale does too. Yes, Aziraphale loves Crowley's hair. The long red locks, fall beautifully behind his back? That was always what captivated Aziraphale at the first place. The demon was in black robe with a matching black wings, but his hair? It was flaming red. Like fire. Crowley wore fire as his crown. And it was so, _God, it was so beautiful_.

Aziraphale didn't, doesn't, and won't ever tell Crowley this, but he was disappointed when Crowley went too fast with changing his hair styles. It was _always_ different styling, different look. He admitted, there was some periods in some centuries that he'd rather not remember, because of how awful Crowley's hair looked like. It wasn't like Aziraphale forbid the demon to stop following the human fashion, but still. He went with it way too fast, Aziraphale couldn't catch up.

So, when Crowley said that he wanted to keep his hair a little longer for the old time's sake, Aziraphale had to try his best to contain his ridiculous excitement. He missed Crowley long hair. He always did.

And it didn't take long, for the hair to grow. Crowley liked styling his hair, but he didn't take his time. He could just snap his finger and _voilà_ , he looked like being professionally handled by a skilled hairdresser. Appearing to be beautiful was much efficient when you were a demon. It was demon's perks, was it not? To appear so appealing, tempting, without breaking any sweat. And supernatural creatures did not sweat at all.

Aziraphale was having none of that.

He loved doing it human way, the slower, _'taking more time'_ way. Time used to be very short and opportunity used to be limited. Since they were grown much closer than before, touching each other had become necessity. Touching each other was the first thing they did in the morning, and the last thing they did before the day would end. Which seemed, _well_ , endless. It turned out, being in close proximity with your beloved was something that they would never get tired of.

So, he braced himself to tell the demon to go slow. Let the hair grow naturally. Crowley didn’t ask why, didn’t think he needs to. Aziraphale asked him, so if he could do it, why the hell not?

Admiring the growth of Crowley’s hair has become Aziraphale's new favorite activity. He knows precisely the length of Crowley’s hair, each day. He counts it silently, unaware of the demon's amusement. Crowley often caught him on the mirror when he prepared himself. The angel stared longingly at his new grown hair. And after a while, Crowley catches on.

He asked the angel if he would love to take care of his hair. It was one of the greatest Crowley’s decision. Aziraphale’s smile was blinding.

"I swear, you're obsessed," Crowley teases, when Aziraphale practically bounces on the couch as the demon approaching him with a comb.

Aziraphale does not show any sign of embarrassment. "I love taking care of your hair, my love."

Crowley chuckles, but he arranges himself between his angel's legs anyway. Aziraphale takes the comb.

"How's your day?"

And that is how their night always going. They would talk about everything, about Crowley's little temptation, to Aziraphale's latest rare book collection. They would talk about people, human, animal, nature, Earth, Galaxy, and stars. It’s not Heaven, or Hell, but it's their sanctuary, their safe place to feel like they're home.

_It_ is their home.

"You ever miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"Heaven," Crowley hugs his knees. "You used to be so mighty, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale chuckles. "You are too, my dear. You're the one who made Alpha Centauri."

Crowley scoffs. "Yeah and then, I fell and I gotta deliver the Anti-Christ which to no one’s surprise, I fucked it up too."

Aziraphale sighs. He loves Crowley and all his flaws (if there is any), but Crowley's self-hatred is something that he still works on to help the demon to get over with.

"Alpha Centauri is not _'fucked up'_ ," he says, taking a handful of hair. "It's beautiful and I'm sorry that I can't be there when you made it. I can only imagine it must be a wondrous work."

"It was." Crowley takes a deep breathe. "I was trying to escape there and taking you with me, remember? To the stars, the Galaxy."

Aziraphale smiles, he remembers.

"What are we going to do there, if hypothetically we're going?"

Crowley laughs. "Oh, so many! I plan for our picnic, making our constellation as reminder, star-gazing—like, literally, and from so much better distance..."

"I would make one too."

"One what?"

"A constellation."

Crowley turns his head slightly. "What will it represent?"

Aziraphale remembers the times he thought any of this wouldn't be possible. Aziraphale remembers the times he _believed_ any of this wouldn't be possible. A mere idea, even just thinking of it, was laughable. But now, look what he has here.

"I feel the air shifts," Crowley says. "What do you miracle, angel?"

Aziraphale takes a neatly woven hair, and brings them to Crowley's side. There's sparkling freckles on them. Bright that is contrast to the red. They are a bunch of tiny dots, celestial sprinkles.

"What is it?"

"It won't compare to Alpha Centauri, but I made you constellation."

Crowley twists his body, holding his braided hair like it is his most prized possession.

Who knows, maybe it is.

"This is incomparable, this is everything."

_It’s just some miniatures of star on your hair, Crowley_ , Aziraphale almost says. But he sees a pair of amber coloured eyes, and a soft smile. And he understands. It’s not just about the stars and constellations.

Aziraphale cradles the demon's face.

"And so are you, my love."

Crowley sighs contently.

He gives him an extra little peck. "And so are you."

  
  


  
  


• **fin •**

  
  


He wants to comb my hair, because he slips the muted _I love you_ between them. I let my hair grows longer and longer because I can’t think of possibility he stops caressing me with his love. He does not say words, neither do I. But we both know. It’s love and promises. Cares and attentions. And he rakes it unto my skin, my hair, my scalp. Flourishing me. I’m alive with his touch. We both are.

—b

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> As usual, blame Atsui.
> 
> I wrote another version with Aziraphale [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21292748)


End file.
